Remember
by Stevie Malfoy
Summary: Not being able to remember is painful. To actually remember is even worse.


Remember  
  
Oh God, I can't breathe. "HARRY! GET UP! SOMEONE HELP! ANYONE! IS THERE ANYONE OUT THERE? OH GOD, PLEASE SOMEONE COME QUICK! I NEED HELP!"  
  
There is a first time for everything, right? The first time a Malfoy admitted they need help publicly; the first time Harry Potter fell...it was a day full of firsts. I couldn't believe it; neither could the rest of the wizarding world. We were sent into a mixed euphoria: Voldemort was dead, but Harry Potter, current savior of the world, was in critical condition. My heart was torn in two, and so was my life. Everything I had known, everything that had been a part of me for five years was laying in a hospital bed, with monitors, I.V.'s, and tubes coming out of him. I thought I lost everything.  
  
Then he came around; after two moths a spike in the monitors, a beep of an alarm, and a fluttering of eyelids was enough to put some sanity back into my life. Two months of unconsciousness and two months of brooding, worrying, waiting, and no sleep had both taken their tolls on us. He looked ghastly, so did I. But no matter what anyone said, I would not leave his side. After all, he never left mine. I reassuringly but ever so gently squeezed his hand. What I got in return was a blank stare.  
  
"Harry, Harry honey, thank God you're awake!" I whispered softly, trying to stop the tears that were running down my cheeks.  
  
"Who...where...what...?" was all he managed to sputter before a look of sheer pain crossed his face. I winced at the sight.  
  
The doctors came in, administered some pain-relieving potion, and sat me down. What they told me shattered every semblance of normality I had just gained: Harry had amnesia and would not remember who I was, that we were lovers, or even who he was. I cried harder than I think I ever have.  
  
I didn't understand how he could forget me, the war, and those long nights together. I know I couldn't. I know that I have forever ingrained in my memory the scent of him, the way he looks when he wakes up, the way he likes his tea, and the way he looks at me that tells me he loves me without saying a word. All of that, five years of memories gone without a trace. I felt empty.  
  
The doctors told me to try to talk to him, that possibly something I say could trigger back memories. I prayed that if I told him I loved him he would remember, if just a little, of what we shared. But I didn't want to scare him. So I started with the basics. "Hi, my name is Draco. We were friends, sort of, before all this happened. You're Harry Potter, you're a hero." This was all I could say during our first real time together before I broke down crying. He had no recollection what-so-ever. I was all alone.  
  
Everyday, I spoke to him, feeding him bits and pieces of his former life, trying to rebuild the burned bridges, trying to bring back our past. I fed him the nice bits, he had friends who loved him, he was a wizard, he was a hero, and conveniently left out the things in his life that he himself had fought so hard to forget. Slowly he seemed to come around, remembering nothing, but talking to me as a friend, as his only friend. I couldn't tell him yet the fates of Ron and Hermione. I don't think I can ever tell him that.  
  
We would talk about nothing and everything and what he missed most. He says he could remember being outside, seeing trees and flower. He couldn't remember people. He couldn't remember places. He could remember me. He often told me that as soon as he could, he wanted to go outside. I promised him I would take him. Perhaps we were making progress.  
  
He never questioned anything I told him. He was Harry Potter. He had been in an accident. I was his friend, Draco Malfoy. I would be with him until he was better. It was all simply understood. He was a wizard. He could do magic. And still, he couldn't remember me. I wanted to kiss him, he would have to remember then, but I couldn't. I knew I couldn't.  
  
As soon as Harry was allowed to walk down the hallway, seeing that most of his major injuries had been healed, he asked me about our trip outside. I told him it would be soon, very soon. The doctors were scared that he would be overwhelmed, but I knew he needed it. Being prisoner to a bed for three months would drive any man insane. Then the day came.  
  
Harry looked like a child on Christmas morning. I told him that today, we would venture outside. Nothing in the world seemed as if it could make him happier. Slowly but surely, Harry had grown accustomed to my presence, conversed with me, and even became friends all over again. He told me that I reminded him of someone, someone he couldn't think of. I prayed that he, if nothing at all, would remember that I was his friend. He hobbled out of bed, stiff from lying still for so long, and we slowly made out way down the hall, down the elevator, and to the park right outside the hospital.  
  
"It's beautiful," he claimed as I opened the doors and lead him outside. The wind blew his slightly long hair around his face. Birds chirped and there was not a cloud in the sky.  
  
"You're beautiful," is what I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue and only smiled. "So Harry, how does it feel to be outside?"  
  
He stood still and didn't say a word. I was worried, not sure exactly what was wrong. Just then, as I was about to call for the doctor, I felt a hand slip into mine. I looked to see what was going on, and only saw silent tears running down Harry's face. Slowly he hugged me, pulling me tight, and whispered into my ear: "Draco, I remember."  
  
Fin. 


End file.
